


Blood & Iron

by Angelkissesanddemonsblood



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Gore, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Smut, but like enjoy i guess, honestly these poor characters, im a terrible person, it's pretty sad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-08
Updated: 2018-07-09
Packaged: 2019-06-07 01:03:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15207416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angelkissesanddemonsblood/pseuds/Angelkissesanddemonsblood
Summary: It’s been millenia since Evangeline (the reader) saw the light of day. Chained in a cave and forced to watch the demise of Sam Winchester she lives in a vicious cycle of her worst nightmare. Breaking the chains that bind her and following her gut she lands herself exactly where she always should have been, protecting the human in her charge (Sam). After recovering she sets out to right the wrongs of her people, reigniting an age old love in the process. Despite all her efforts not everything can be fixed with a little magic and dreams of white picket fences.





	1. Prologue: decadence

**Author's Note:**

> Alright I want to preface this with something. Castiel uses "sister" in the prologue HE IS NOT RELATED TO THIS PARTICULAR ANGEL.  
> (It will all get explained later on, there wasn't a term of endearment that fit his character is my basis for it's use currently.)

* * *

_ My life has been the poem I would have writ _

_ But I could not both live and utter it. _

_ -henry david thoreau _

* * *

 

  
  


Dust layered the ground before you, blown in by the winds beyond the small opening of the cave. An isle had been carved from the dust by the shifting feet of your only visitor, leading towards you and stopping at your knees. Based on the amount of times daylight had rolled through the barely-there entrance you guess he’s going to visit again soon. Yet he can’t help you escape. Chains carved from the bones of angels restrain you, pulling you into the muted swell of endless days. The bone burns your vessel’s skin, but to no avail. The pain faded years ago. Your eyes scan the walls of this grey cavern again, painting images akin to the ones you created before. Amongst them an awful, twisted rendition of your father broke way, soaring out over the rest to taunt you. You look away with contempt, tears staining your face. No matter how hard you try you can never make that memory go away. It’s the one thing that can still draw words from your silent throat. 

A flutter of wings echo off the cave walls, followed by even footsteps coming ever closer. You could make out the black of his dress pants in the darkness just in front of you. Calloused, utterly human fingers that crackle with the electricity of grace embraced your cheek tentatively. He always does this, waiting for the day when he won’t be able to touch you. For when you’ve forgotten him entirely and try to bite him in fear. You can never forget, the orb that shows you the worst of each day like a badge of your cosmic failure will never let you, but he doesn’t know that. It only comes in the night, long after he’s left. You keep your head down as he speaks, “I’m sorry sister.”

It’s quiet, so quiet you nearly mistake it for wind. Raising your head to meet his eyes you mouth what your voice cannot say, “I know, it’s not your fault Castiel.”

Altogether too soon he’s gone, leaving only a freshly cleared path in the dust and you.


	2. peculiarities

_ are these golden hearts _

_ always heavy? _

_ \- b. damani _

* * *

 

Stumbling along a sullen road lined with trees as far as the eyes can see you get a feeling deep in your chest. It's like fire, dragging up your arms and pulsing in your shoulder blades. It pulls you aimlessly forward, taking towards the great unknown. Warm and comforting it whispers  _ come to me _ , like a lovers hug. 

Your feet drag along the cracked and potholed asphalt of the abandoned road, scraping loudly against the silence. Birds scatter from trees as you pass, the flap of their wings echoing in your ringing ears. Quietly your mind asks the fire in your skin  _ where, where are taking me? _ But the feeling gives no answer, only an endless buzz and again  _ come to me.  _

Carved in your wrists are swollen scars from the cuffs of your shackles. You look beaten, as though you just finally escaped the clutches of an abuser who raised his hand at you one to many times. Beaten you are not, though the burn that had dulled so long ago tore anew through your hands, making the slightest of twitches excruciating. Throat still raw you could hardly manage a squeak, your grace poking tentatively at the damaged flesh yet doing nothing to heal your vessel. In time your throat would heal, but the scarring on your wrists was forever. 

The road came to an end at a slab of concrete with a garage door placed dutifully in the center, above it was an impeding house. Your heart wavers, the flame so close now you felt you could reach out and touch it. Shambling up the long, curved driveway you reach the door. It's large and dark, with a brass knocker in the shape of a bull dangling from the middle. You pull it up, let it drop. As it clunks down against the wood spots begin to creep at the edge of your vision. By the time the door swings open, revealing a younger man with a confused look on his face, your vision has tunnelled to barely there. The abyss of black grabs you at the elbows, pulling you down into its welcome waves. Your vessel falls forward into the boys arms. He manages to catch you in his surprise, though it is with utter panic in his tone that he calls out, “Dean! Sam!”

You are rested on a mattress in Castiel's room, the gentle caress of it an encouraged cushion against your aching back. It tries to lull you back to the empty, but the shocking comfort sends you spiraling forth in fear. 

Around you men are speaking in turn, all of their voices deep except one. One man with a tone as gruff as it is sceptical speaks, “I don't trust it Sam, this girl who's battered and bruised shows up on our doorstep and just, passes out?” his clothes shift, signifying his nervous pacing, there's a pause then, “That doesn’t strike you as just a little odd?”

A different voice, more even and patient in its inflection replies, “Yeah Dean, it's odd. But she looks human and behaves human. She didn't react to silver or holy water or anything! And she's still out cold so I think that counts out her being an-”

The boy who opened the door cut Sam off, you recognized him from the pitch of his voice, “No, don't cut angel out. I can feel something. Its faint but it's, it's there.”

A creak comes from beside the bed, and the boy continues, “It's almost like it's trapped under the surface and trying to get out.”

Dean as you now knew him chuffed a sarcastic laugh, “That's just great. I told you Sam.”

Sam sighed, “We've never even seen this girl and we've met dozens of angels. Hell, if she's an angel why does she have scars? Huh Dean can you answer that?!”

You woke, opening your eyes dryly. Two or three blinks later your sight evens out. Groaning in earnest you bring your hand to your forehead, pressing between your eyes in hopes of dulling the headache that pulsed there. 

Jack, who isn't distracted by the incessant bickering gasps, “She's up!”

Sam stops arguing with Dean, rushing over to the side of the bed. You feel his large hand wrap over the width of your upper arm. He helps as you sit up, fingers grazing your cheek. The cave and Castiel flash behind your eyes, making you slap Sam's hand away in terror. Scooting back on the bed to get away from him you touch the spot he had, eyes wide with shock. The grace that bubbled just below the surface broke free from somewhere deep within. Your eyes shone lavender in the dim room, but unlike Jack you made nothing shatter with the sudden influx of power. 

Before the angelic glow of your true form could cause any damage to the Winchesters retinas a man in a trench coat spreads his wings and shields them. You can see that the wings are incredibly broken, but they do the job. He seems to come from nowhere, simply appearing before your very eyes in the middle of the room. As your glow fades back into your being he turns, your lips part in a silent expression,  _ Castiel _ .  

He stares back, just as surprised to see you here. Castiel steps forward, brushing the calloused fingers you know so well over your cheek. He smiles sadly, “Eve, how did you end up here?” 

The sound was wistful, almost pleading for an answer. You recall that your hands are free and begin to do the basic alphabetical sign language you can remember.  _ Followed your grace here. _

Sam coughs, pulling your eyes from Castiel, “What does she mean followed your grace Cas? Who is she?”

Castiel runs his hand down your arm, muttering  **rest** in Enochian. You lay down, letting him tuck the blankets over your shoulders. As you begin to doze off in the newly dark room Castiel takes the Winchesters into the heart of the bunker.

 

Dean raises a brow at Castiel impatiently, “Well?”

 

“She's the first angel. The creator. Mother Earth,” Castiel sighs, as though telling this story drains him, “My father created her and the archangels, everything else, including regular angels, came from her. He was just the ideas man. But when He wrote the bible He wanted the apocalypse to happen because the other angels pestered him about it constantly. In order to do that he needed you and Sam. But when she created Sam and put his vessel and soul together she found herself loving him as a child. Sam is her human, so as I'm sure you guessed she wouldn't let that plan happen. The angels got her when she wasn't looking,” Castiel pauses, eyes brimming with tears, “they chained her with the bones of her mightiest creations, other angels.”

 

Sam frowns, “She's my angel?”

 

With a curt nod Castiel breathes out a yes. Which sends Sam on his way. Dean crosses his arms while Cas shuffles the canned goods sitting on the counter, “Where do you fit into this Cas?”

 

Castiel pulls a cabinet open and stares at its empty it's empty shelves, “I was her lover.”

 

Dean stops short, “lover?”

 

“Yes, I asked her to court with me when I was younger Dean. I loved her. Even in her true form she looks like one of you, like the first draft of a future creation. It's beautiful. And her vessel? She made it specifically for herself, I always thought the design she chose was perfect, soft, curvy,” he scrapes a can of beans towards himself.

 

The idea of Cas having a lover, of courting someone threw Dean off, yet he managed to stammer, “Sounds like you really loved her Cas.”

 

Dean can't see the tear drop that splatters against the back of Castiel's hand for the back that faces him. The angel is nearly frozen in place, his voice shaking, “I wanted to marry her in one of your human rituals Dean. I wanted to have fledglings with her, have a family. They ripped that all away in seconds. Pulled her right from my hands. She begged me to look out for Sam, and I've failed her so many times.”

 

Placing the last can of beans in the cabinet Castiel reaches a hand up to wipe away his tears, “I don't even know if she remembers what I told her just before they took her away.”

 

Dean rests a gentle hand on Castiel's shoulder, “What was that Cas?”

 

“Olani hoath ol.  _ I love you, _ ” Castiel looks at Dean, “That was the only time I ever told her that.”

  
  



End file.
